In The Ghetto
by maryx3
Summary: This is a story from Kenny's POV. There will be lots of pairings maybe slash and a bunch of highschool drama, and it's my first fic. Be gentle.
1. Table of Misfits

"Kenny, you are _such_ an asshole," came the snarl as I approached the car. Hopping inside, I gave Kyle a strange look, "Good morning to you too," I replied slowly, carefully. He was in one of those moods, and I thought it would be for the best if he left him alone about it.

After a few minutes of shivering in silence, I finally gave up, "Why am I an asshole, Kyle?"

Kyle's eyes snapped around, and he almost bared his teeth, "I can't believe you'd _do_ that to Bebe," he snarled.

I held a brief staring contest with him, but broke the look uncomfortably. "I just wasn't interested anymore," I murmured in my own defense. "And I was nice about it too," I added.

After Kyle gave a scoff at his first statement, I couldn't help but frown a bit, not wanting my ride mad at me. Walking home was a pain. "Why does it matter so much to you?"

Kyle's ears and face got all red and stuff, and drove without speaking. Stan had that mess of an old pick-up truck and Cartman could take the bus for all he cared, I guessed. But I guess he liked me better than Cartman (ha ha, obviously), because he did give me a ride to and from school.

"Would it help if I told you I was sorry?" I ventured, flashing him a grin. People just didn't say no to the McCormick smile.

It just was not done.

Kyle pursed his lips, then sighed, rolling his eyes, "I guess. Whatever, Ken," he muttered, and we didn't speak the rest of the ride to school. Pussy.

I decided to seek companionship with Cartman at lunch. I suppose it was a poor choice, but I stuck to it…for about five minutes.

"Hey, Kenny."

"Hi, Cartman."

"Try takin' that mangy hood off every once in a while and maybe the Jew would be able to talk to you."

"Nah, that's not it…"

"Sand in his vagina?"

I snorted, and he nodded wisely, "I don't see why you talk to him so much. He's just a dirty Jew."

I shifted uncomfortably, and shrugged, hoping he wouldn't get around to harassing me this time.

I knew he would.

After a couple more minutes, he began to sing, after I mentioned that I needed a ride home, "On a cold and grey Chicago mornin', a poor little baby's born, _in the ghetto_, and his momma cries, 'cause if there's one thing she don't need, it's another hungry mouth to feed-"

"Cartman, you are such an asshole."

"In the _ghetto-oo_."

"God damn it, Cartm-"

"Hehe, _in the ghettoooo_," he drawled out high-pitchedly.

"You stupid fat fuck," I said, hoping it would hit a nerve, and it did, I guess.

"AY! I'm gonna kick you _STRAIGHT in the NUTS_!"

I stood, and I headed for another table, still pissed off, though he hadn't threatened to kick anyone "square in the nuts" for almost a month.

I headed to Craig's gang, then turned back when his middle finger met Token's gaze. I'd better not.

Then I cast my eyes towards the outcast's table.

They were laughing, chatting, and _appeared_ happy. I scratched my head through my hood; how had they not gotten friends through all these years?

I sighed and headed for that group, deciding for now that was where I belonged.

Even if it was with…Pip, Butters, Jimmy, Tweek, and that weird French kid.

I never could remember his nickname.

"Can I sit here?" I asked, feeling my face go hot suddenly, so I let out a sigh.

I wondered vaguely if they could even understand what I was saying.

Tweek jumped a bit, and scooted his chair to the side and grabbed at his shirt, "AH GOD! What! Don't sneak up on my like that! _JESUS_!"

I didn't bother looking at him while Butters and Pip looked at each other and Jimmy raised two thin and underused arms, grinning, "Tim-Timmy!" he said in his approval.

That was enough for me, and I sat down with them, and Butters began to speak, and it sounded louder than usual, so I guess he was looking me in the eye – or trying, because my eyes were on the table.

"Ah- uh- Kenny?" he said, obviously unsure if I was listening.

"Oh, yeah, Butters?"

"We-well, we were jus' wondering…if you'd like- like to take your hood off ta- ta eat…?"

I shifted uncomfortably, and sighed, "I can't afford to buy a lunch."

The French kid curled his lip slightly and pushed an apple toward me that he obviously wasn't going to eat.

I looked at it and hesitantly thanked him, not really trusting it.

Then was when I had to do it for the first time today, and I undid the thinned and fraying strings to loosen my hood, and then I let it drop. A few of the people at the table leaned forward a bit to look at me, I guess, because I heard a few chairs squeak under them at the shift.

So I spent lunch with the losers, and I took my hood down for a full period.

It felt uncomfortable and my ears got cold. I noticed my hair was getting long because the front was past my eyebrows and the dirty stuff was getting in my eyes so I kept touching it and scratching my forehead.

After the bell rang, I stood up awkwardly and waved at all of them, and Timmy was the only one that responded.

After school, I'd begun talking to Stan, who was a bit busy bitching about Wendy and – brace yourself – Cartman dating. He just kept going and going, and I could hardly understand him because his voice got all high when he was mad, and occasionally if would waver in pitch, so I'd nod at those points. I busied myself with messing with the string of my hood, and sighed in a low, drained sort of way.

Today had been lonely.

I hadn't died yet, so I guess that was something to be thankful for, so when we began home (with Kyle still pissed), and Stan's car got hit, I wasn't surprised that it was on my side, nor that I was successfully crushed, or even that Stan had acted all surprised, "Oh my God! You killed Kenny!" And across the intersection, Kyle poked his head out the window and screamed in reply, "_You_ bastards!"

Assholes. Like it really mattered to them after almost sixteen years of this bullshit.

All Stan cared about was his car getting totaled and that blood stained clothes; and Kyle…well, I guess he cared about Bebe. I always kind of thought that Kyle, of all people, gave a damn.

Okay, so I had some thinking to do in Hell today.  
I know I'm a McCormick, and I _know _I'm poor.  
I know I'm trash, and I know that I'm a pervert.  
I know no one wants their kids associating with me.  
I'm okay with that too…I think.I can understand where they're coming from, but I still hate them.  
Mom says hating people will send you straight to Hell.  
I can't help but laugh.


	2. A Better Day

It was actually 3 in the morning before I found myself in my bed, awakened by the sound of my father dragging his ass in the door.  
I guess he was out at the bar.  
It didn't really matter to me, because now that school had started, my time with the assholes would be limited.  
At least I didn't wake up pissed at the world this morning.  
When I went out to get a glass of water, my dad gave me a weird look like he didn't recognize me for a second, so I looked right back.

"Hi, dad."  
"Kenny, yer hair is outta control, boy. Have your mom fix that tomorrow…"  
"Alright, dad." He really was reasonable most of the time, if a little sloppy.  
Well, to his family anyway.

Mom was the one that went apeshit, and mostly at dad anyway. The only time she ever got mad enough to lay a hand on me I deserved it and I know damn well I'd have hit me too, if that makes any sense.

I didn't go back to sleep that night, mostly because dad passed out after throwing up (in the sink, thank god).  
I had to take him to him and mom's room.  
It wasn't too hard, because I wasn't weak or anything.  
He was drooling and everything, but he always did that.  
I think I must do this twice a week.

Every time my mom gets all mad and smacks him upside the head, and calls him a lazy, good-for-nothing, low-life piece of shit.  
I guess she was too tired from being a damning bitch all day, because she slept right through me heaving him up onto the bed.

When I thought Kyle would be up, after a while of watching TV with my brother, I called his house to see if he would be taking me to school.  
Maybe he was that pissed.  
I guess my clock's fast, because he wasn't awake when I called.  
Kyle was always up before me.  
I'm a lazy shit, like my dad.  
I believe that's the only trait I really share with him though, because I don't think we're really related.  
I mean, redhead + brunette blond?  
Nah.

"He…llo?" he said through a yawn.  
"Kyle?"  
"…Kenny, take your hood off. We're on the phone."  
"Oh, sorry," I obliged.  
"What is it, dude?"  
"I was just wondering if you were gonna pick me up today…" _Please, please, please_.  
"Oh…well, yeah. Of course I am." _Thank God. Sometimes I could kiss that boy._  
"Oh, sweet."  
"Why wouldn't I?" _Jesus Christ, I wonder…_  
"I don't know…Ignore me, I haven't been sleeping well. Sorry if I acted funny yesterday."  
"Me too."  
"Cool."

After an awkward silence, I ended the conversation, or attempted to, "Hey, I gotta uh…brush my teeth, dude."  
He gave a laugh that breathed itself into the mouthpiece, "Is that kinda like washing your hair?"  
I grinned; at least we were on joking terms, "Whatever."  
"Oh, and dude…try not wearing the hood today."  
"Uh…"  
"Just do it, man."  
"Alright." I wonder why _everyone_ suddenly cares about my hood…?  
Conspiracy? I think so.

It was apparently Butters' birthday. Our lockers are close together, and it looked like one of his friends decided to deck it out with birthday wishes.  
Alternately, someone else had added their wishes to this as well in dark green ink.  
Assholes.  
It put a damper on the day, I guess, because he looked pretty bummed. That is, in the first few seconds he saw it, he seemed pretty sad.  
I think he's actually sad most of the time.  
No one's_ that_ happy.

Stan decided to seek me out to bitch about Wendy today, and I could also hear Wendy across the hall bitching at Cartman about something.  
I wasn't listening to either of them.

Butters and I have almost the same birthday, but I think he's a year older than me. He always was a year older than everyone.  
Maybe his parents wanted him to have an "advantage".  
The only time I noticed was in 5th grade when his voice kept cracking.  
Also, he still had that same stutter, didn't he?

Things never seem to change in this town.

Pip still talked like a weirdo.  
Butters still stuttered (ha ha, the _cleverness_ of me).  
I still wore a hood.  
Stan was still whiny on occasion.  
Cartman was still a bastard.  
Kyle still acted all mature and shit.  
Craig still had a middle-finger issue.  
Mr. Garrison was still gay.  
Bebe's tits were still sweet.

It's like South Park is stuck in "retard".

After a minute I was broken from my thoughts as a Senior shoved into me, leering as he passed.  
He was still an asshole.

Also, it's weird what changes.

Cartman wasn't really fat anymore, so much as he was chubby, with just a little extra.  
Kyle wasn't wearing that gay hat anymore, but his hair still looked like it had a brain of its own (along with a stomach, heart, and lungs, of course).  
Stan's hair was really short, and he was shorter than me.  
Actually, just about _everyone_ was shorter than me.  
I'm almost 6'2.  
Oh, and Butters' hair wasn't doing that…puff thing anymore.  
I guess he grew out of it.  
_Thank God_.

After Stan had picked up where he left off, my eyes shifted, I guess, because before I knew it I was staring at some girl, and it wasn't her face.  
She caught me, and I deserved the sickened look I got, I suppose.  
I _was_ poor, after all.  
Don't get me wrong – it doesn't irritate me as much as it came off as yesterday.  
It's just some days shit gets you down, you know.  
I think it's kind of funny how fathers warned their daughters against me.

Among the "hmphs", I seemed to be getting a bit more attention from the ladies.  
Some people didn't even seem to know who I was, but those that really knew me beyond a few classes recognized me instantly.  
I guess it's the eyes, the skin, or maybe the height.  
I dunno.

At lunch I decided to ditch the other guys to sit next to the losers again.  
Wait, I guess it's mean to refer to them as that.  
Since Butters had shown those few moments of hurt, I decided to slap my lunchbag down next to him.  
He looked at me and grinned, so I guess it made him glad, "Happy birthday, Butters.""We- well, thank you Kenny," he said, almost swelling with the happiness.  
He was one weird kid, but he was just so sweet.  
How could people stand to give him a swirly?

After a while, I came to learn that the French kid called himself the "Mole".Who the hell wants to be called Mole?  
Also, I think he's a smoker too.  
One more person to bum off of.  
Cartman smokes too, and Craig, along with Tweek (I think).  
I don't know much about Tweek, he sort of gets too upset too much.

Butters invited me to his house after a while, because I guess he's having a little party.  
I guess I'm going.  
I'm making him give me a ride though.

**SOME JUNK I WANNA SAY:** uh, so...I know a lot hasn't happened yet, but you can't really rush it, I don't think.It's better to lay out some background and get the characters settled into their respective...er...character. Thanks for the compliments, you...uh..two. XD


	3. Buenos dias!

It turned out Cartman was hitching a ride with Token.

I don't know how he pulled that shit off, after all those years of Token being 'a stupid, rich nigger'.

It was just short of a miracle.

So of course he asks if I need a ride, hoping, probably _praying_, that I wasn't speaking with Kyle anymore.

Asshole.

"No, I'm going to…a party," _no way I'd say whose._

"Whose?"

"Butters'."_ GOD DAMN IT. How'd he do that?_

Fuckin' crazy.

So he got this real bad look on his face that made me uncomfortable, so I headed for class. In Spanish, the teacher was jabbering, and eventually found his way to my name, "Senorita…er, _Senor_ Kenneth?"

So I stopped writing 'Cartman was here' on the new Spanish books and looked up.

"What?"

"Buenos dias."

"…Kay."

"Buenos dias."

"Buenos tardes."

"Too early for tardes. Dias, dias, dias."

"…_Kay_."

He was really the only one that bothered to get me to talk in class. He seemed sort of pissed when I went back to shuffling my books and stuff.

I guess my mind was on something else during math, because I wrote _McButters_ instead of my name. Unfortunately, it was on a note to Kyle, and it was returned with the name circled and a question mark next to it.

I grinned a little, because McButters was kind of funny. Kyle had his eyebrow raised when we made eyecontact at the end of class.

"You're going to Butters' party?"

"You're n…You _know_ about that?"

"Of course I do."

"Uh…" _How?_

"Cartman's telling everyone."

"Shit, are you seriousl?"

"Yeah, man. And I was right about the hood thing."

"I don't…god DAMN IT."

"What's wrong? …Oh, the party. Right. Yeah, he's a douche."

It was so much worse than he thought. If his bitch-mother had achieved one thing, it was sheltering him at least a little. Now it's not that he still believed in Santa Claus, but I highly doubt that he's ever been to a real highschool party.

Like, this one time, last year, some chick threw this bash. About three hundred people showed, along with a bunch of alcohol, and possibly some drugs. The heavy shit too. I'm not sure; I was busy with someone in her pool.

Yeah. _In her fuckin' pool_.

I was so positive that was gonna end up just like that, and Butters would be grounded for years to come.

I _wish_ that's how it would have turned out.

Jesus Christ, I wish it was.

After school, I got to Butters' homeroom, where the "Mole" (seriously, what the hell?) was sitting with him, thick eyebrows attempting to collide.

Butters looked up and grinned, and it made me feel like he really meant it. Not a lot of his smiles were like that one, and it made me feel good. I guess I'm kinda weird about how people smile or look at me. Mole gave me a skeptical glance, seeming totally disgusted with me. I guess we never clicked. I was told I saved his life though, once.

I've saved about everyone in South Park at least once.

_By dying._

Mole finally gave me a smile that looked real enough and mumbled out a gruff and deep, "'Ello."

I gave him a smile in return, and a hello. I've noticed lately I sound cheerful a lot of the time. I'm not.

I don't think anyone's really aware that I'm human.  
It's like teachers. When they mention their kids or husbands, it's like…

Holy shit.  
She's a person.  
She eats, sleeps, loves, and masturbates.  
It's just weird.

I think it must be 'cause I'm quiet and I don't share strong opinions often, or back up the ones that I do. I just short of shoot stuff out there. Then everyone looks at me funny for saying something.

I'm Kenny, and I'm just there.

I may be their "fuh-fuh-friend", but I'm somewhat of a nonentity.

Butters was already toward the door when I finished the thought.

He was pretty quick, for a little guy.

"Cuh-come on, Kenny," he said, grinning and grinding his knuckles together. I caught myself adoring that habit. What the fuck is _wrong_ with me? The kid's a fucking freak.

And I refer to him in my thoughts as "the kid".

Seriously, Ken, shape up.

"Yeah, comin'," I replied and so we found our way to this old, loud, dark green and rusted Volvo, that looked ready to spit oil on me in its dying breath. I giggled at the similarities of Volvo and "vulva".

I guess I'm just as much a kid as he is, but in another way.

He really is… Well, he grows on you.

**CRAP FOR YOU:**

..! That was shorrtt.  
Um.  
Sorry I suck so bad. xD  
There's some heavy shit planned for Butters' birthday.  
I may change the rating eventually. P:

KEEEEP REVIEWWWINNNGGG. D: 


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